


Negative Confessions

by bellatemple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-20
Updated: 2011-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vignette coda to 7x04: Dean has issues, and he has his own ways of dealing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negative Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Quick and dirty. This one just wanted out. Cut text is from "Aside" by the Weakerthans.

At dawn, Dean stood on by the shore of a lake. He couldn’t say which one, whether Michigan or Eerie or Superior. Behind him, the Impala cradled Sam as he slept the sleep of the just, or the forgiven, or maybe just the crazy, quiet and still in a way Dean was pretty sure he never was before the cage. Dean thought it might be nice to sleep that deeply, wondered if he ever had.

He shifted his weight in the thin, rocky sand, and listened to the _squidge_ of it beneath the soles of his boots. It was a familiar sound, and it took him a moment to place it. One of the more creative of Alistair’s tortures had involved searing hot sand. Dean had been the one to suggest forcing it down a soul’s gullet.

“Laying it on a little thick, today.”

Dean flinched at the voice, though he wasn’t surprised to hear it. He’d been haunted by everything else in the world and out of it, why not an ancient god? Osiris’ business with him was certainly unfinished enough.

“I considered delving into your hellish roots,” Osiris continued, standing next to Dean and looking out across the water. “But that would have taken such a very, very long time.”

Dean swallowed, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets and hunching down into the collar of his jacket. He opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut and shifted his weight again instead, letting the _squidge_ reverberate up through his legs straight to his ribs. It lived viscerally there, a centering weight holding him firm against the earth.

“I have to say, Dean,” said Osiris. “I’ve seen a lot of guilt in my time, over everything from cold, calculated murder to cheating on an elementary school math test. I’ve seen it justified, illusory, even relieved, but I’ve never seen anyone cling to it quite like you do.”

Dean cleared his throat, shooting a glance back at the car to make sure that Sam was still sleeping. “You got a point here, or do you just like to hear yourself talk?”

“A little of both,” Osiris admitted cheerfully. “You’ve even managed to take on the guilt for the end of the world itself.”

Dean looked out across the water and rolled his shoulders back. “It was my fault.”

“But the world didn’t end.” Osiris threw his arms wide, his left arm flying right through Dean like he wasn’t even there. “Your heart weighs more than an ocean of lead feathers. You actually drink to make it weigh _more_. It’s a wonder it hasn’t crushed your chest.”

Dean turned back toward the car. “Then sic Jo on me again.” He smirked faintly. “Or, wait. I guess you can’t. God of the Dead’s nothing more than a powerless shade.”

“For now,” Osiris agreed, unconcerned. “Your brother is a demon with a ram’s horn. Oh!” He put his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, bad turn of phrase. That one’s on you, too, isn’t it? You led Azazel right to your mother.”

Dean moved faster, hands coming out of his pockets as he circled the car towards the trunk.

“And Castiel,” Osiris continued following close behind him. “Just a simple angel until he met you, and just look what happened to him.”

Dean popped open the trunk and drew his shotgun in a single, fluid move, firing both barrels into Osiris’ face. The dead god flickered and vanished. Sam shot up in the backseat with a shout, looking wildly around.

“But that’s it, isn’t it?” Osiris stood again on Dean’s left, as though the salt shot had never hit him. “Your guilt isn’t a burden you carry. It’s an anchor.”

Dean shut the trunk with a force he would have yelled at someone else for using. Sam flinched and pressed his thumb into his hand, and Dean pretended he didn’t see. Osiris nodded.

“You’re one fucked up bastard, son,” he said, then vanished from sight once more.

“Dean,” said Sam, and Dean looked up at him through the rear windshield.

“What?”

“You okay, man?”

Dean _squidged_ the sand under his feet again. He pictured how it felt to drive his knife into the heart of his brother’s first childhood sweetheart, then turn around to confront her son. The lead ball in his chest ached, and he straightened his shoulders and summoned a smile.

“Yeah man,” he said. “I’m just fine.”


End file.
